La Bete Humaine: Criterion Collection

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All Rise...

Judge Steve Evans doesn't play with trains, but he likes to watch movies about people who do.

The Charge

A tale of a murderous ménage à trois, infused with rich symbolism
and social commentary by the undisputed master of early French cinema.

Opening Statement

Director Jean Renoir veers from his humanist work to deliver a blueprint for
what would become known as film noir a decade later. A virtual template for the
psychological thriller, Alfred Hitchcock almost certainly studied this intense
1938 film that was years ahead of its time; contemporary directors should do
likewise for lessons in pure craftsmanship and suspense. La Bête Humaine
(The Human Beast) was a one-off statement from the French director, who
would never make another film as brutally powerful yet so quietly devastating as
this one. With Criterion's expert presentation, the picture remains a rich
viewing experience nearly 70 years later, as Renoir explores fatalism and innate
human savagery, brought on by co-dependence, mental instability and the
heartbreaking betrayal of infidelity. Though a lesser film in the Renoir canon
(Rules of the Game remains the acknowledged masterpiece), this is merely
by a matter of degrees.

Facts of the Case

Train engineer Jacques Lantier (Jean Gabin, Grand Illusion) drives his
beloved locomotive Lison from Paris to La Havre, where he rests for a few days
when an axle overheats and must be replaced. A brooding man, Lantier is plagued
by occasional and violent seizures, which he blames on the excessive drinking of
his forefathers "who poisoned my blood," as he confides to a friend.
Lantier only seems truly alive when driving his locomotive. Donning goggles, he
sticks his head out from behind the engineer's seat through the open window
where he inspects the tracks, reveling in the sensation of pure speed as the
wind whips over his face.

The La Havre stationmaster, Roubaud (Fernand Ledoux, Les
Misérables), and his pretty wife, Séverine (Simone Simon, The Devil and Daniel Webster) like to
socialize with the tight railroad community, though Séverine is by far the
more popular of the two. The lady is a tramp. The older Roubaud harbors vague
suspicions of his young wife's various infidelities, although his pathological
possessiveness may be the very reason she seeks comfort in the arms of other
men.

When Lantier becomes witness to a murder, Séverine buys the engineer's
silence with an invitation to her bed. But her husband always seems to be
lurking nearby, skulking in the shadows of the railyard. Lantier fancies he's in
love, but any normal man in possession of his faculties would turn from the
sweetly poisonous Séverine and run. As the three points of this triangle
begin to turn on one another, Séverine wonders if another murder may be the
price of freedom.

The Evidence

Jean Renoir worked in almost every film genre and even invented a few,
including the social satire (starting with Boudu Saved From Drowning). Here,
he creates a classic noir years before French critics even came up with the
label "films noir"—the dark, nihilistic, and cynical cinema that
American studios began churning out in the 1940s on thin budgets. Here, he
assembled a superb cast of absolutely authentic-looking character actors. Renoir
also reunited with Gabin on this picture after their collaboration a year
earlier on Grand Illusion.

A superstar in his native France, Gabin was only 34 when he made La
Bête Humaine. And yet, he appears much older—conveying the
weariness of a man so confused and disappointed by life that he could be easily
entranced by the seductive charms of a duplicitous woman.

Simon Simone, the quintessential French femme fatale, would later appear in
the most famous of RKO Producer Val Lewton's effective low-budget chillers, Cat People and its sequel, Curse of the Cat People. As an aside of
pure coincidence, I note that she died of natural causes in Paris a year ago to
the day I completed this review. Simone was 94.

Renoir himself appears in an amusing cameo as an outspoken, train-riding
hobo whose dialogue is thinly veiled commentary on the moral themes explored in
the film. But this is mainly a film dealing in dread and tragedy.

La Bête Humaine contains several scenes of such tightly-coiled
suspense that it is not possible to watch without wondering how often Hitchcock
held private screenings of the picture for his own education.

In addition to a lifelong fascination with human frailties, Renoir possessed
a genetic talent for capturing stunning visuals (he is the son of French
impressionist painter Auguste Renoir). Here the director deploys symbolism both
subtle and overt to makes his points about fatalism and emotional entanglements.
Subtle symbols include the frequent tracking shots from the engineer's
perspective on the locomotive, as this inexorable forward movement of the train
sweeps the protagonist along to his destiny. More obvious is the camera's chaste
panning from a lovemaking scene during a thunderstorm to the lingering shot of a
waterspout gushing into a bucket until it slows to a trickle.

La Bête Humaine benefits especially from stark black and white
cinematography by the director's nephew Claude Renoir, whose genius with a
camera would never surpass his work on Jean Renoir's first Technicolor film, The River. Modern audiences can revel in
Claude Renoir's insistence on authenticity: Only one rear-projection image is
used (at the climax, as an obvious necessity); every other train sequence was
shot on the tracks at 60 mph. During a 45-year career, Claude Renoir would also
frame John Frankenheimer's The French
Connection II and the James Bond adventure The Spy Who Loved Me, but the work for his
uncle is unparalleled.

The image is occasionally soft, but this may be more a factor of the film's
age than Criterion's restoration and digital-transfer efforts. The monaural
sound is clean and dialogue-centric. It is unspectacular, but gets the job
done.

Extra features include an introduction of the film prepared by Renoir in
1967 (which reveals significant plot points, so beware). In his delightfully
droll manner, Renoir notes that the project came to life because star Jean Gabin
wanted to make a movie about trains. The disc also features a short interview
with director Peter Bogdanovich (Targets,
The Last Picture Show) who shares
his insights and claims La Bête Humaine may be Renoir's best
picture. Archival interviews, a trailer, and gallery of production stills are
augmented by a beautiful, 40-page booklet with writings on the film.

The Rebuttal Witnesses

Closing Statement

Although it's getting a bit redundant to note that Criterion always delivers
the goods, the fact is, the talents behind this boutique collection of important
films know precisely what they are doing. And we like it. For Renoir completists
and collectors of noir this is a must-have disc.

The Verdict

Renoir stands guilty of directing a heart-breaking tragedy with consummate
skill—for which he is obviously acquitted. Criterion receives high praise
for presenting another quality package, especially for a lesser-known film from
this artful director.